Webb Jordan had followed me out to the edge of the rock. He drew a long satisfied breath and sniffed the clear cool air. "It sure is real pretty tonight, ain't it?" he commented.
I agreed that it sure was. Low as I was feeling at that moment I could still appreciate the beauty of the night. We hesitated a moment longer, drinking it in, and then as we started to turn back he said, almost apologetically, "Johnny, I hate to say this, but I'm going to have to put the bracelets on you while we get our shut-eye. Got to be legal and all that, should anything happen—"
And then something happened:
As we turned back he put one foot down on a weathered pebble, or something of the sort, that rolled under his boot-sole, causing him to lose his balance. He staggered back, arms waving wildly in the air. Impulsively, I put out one hand to catch him, but my movement came too late.
The next instant he plunged backward from the edge of the rock, striking the swirling depths below with a splash that sent water cascading down my face and shirt front.
I gave a startled yell and could only stare dumbly for a moment at the spot where Jordan had disappeared. I hadn't heard a sound from him since he hit the water. Peering over the edge I saw his head come up once and then disappear again as his arms flailed helplessly against the tossing waters.
The first thought that occurred to me was that here was my chance for escape. Abruptly I started to hate myself for the thought, and then it was borne in on me that Jordan hadn't acted, in the brief moment I saw him, like a man accustomed to water. The sudden truth hit me like a ton of rock:
Webb Jordan couldn't swim a stroke!
Moving frantically, I whipped off my boots, then dived in. The current whirled me dizzily around for a moment before I came up, head above water. Now I was thankful for such light as the moon gave, throwing as well into some relief the shadows along the rocky banks. Whipping water out of my eyes, I tried to raise my head above water. There was no sight of Jordan and I wondered if he'd gone down for good.
Then farther on in a shadow, I thought I saw him trying to hold to a projecting rock at one side. The place was in shadow, and I couldn't be certain, but I struck out in that direction anyway, the current carrying me along swifter than I could have managed to swim in those chilling depths. God, it was cold, like something that had just come from an Arctic iceberg, almost paralyzing to the arms and leg muscles.
I had almost reached the spot for which I was headed when I managed to make out his struggling figure, hands scrabbling at slippery rock. Then he lost the battle and went under again, carried farther away from me. So far I'd not heard one word from him. Undoubtedly he was already half unconscious.
I stroked as strongly as possible toward the spot where he had last disappeared, then veered more to the right. Not a sign of him, now, and I wondered if he was already drowned. Taking a deep breath, I plunged below the surface, unable to see anything now, but feeling wildly about on the chance that I might locate his body.
An undercurrent dragged me down and down, then just as I thought I must be close to the bottom, one hand touched something that felt like clothing. Already I was being whipped to the surface again, and I made a frantic grab for Jordan, if it was Jordan I had felt. My hand touched human hair, and I tightened my grip, hauling him to the surface, fighting to swim with one hand, while the other towed Jordan, by the head, at my side.
Then a bit of luck overtook us. A swirl of the current carried us near the bank and an instant later I felt the rocky and sandy bottom under foot. A few moments later I had dropped, exhausted, on a small stretch of sand, Jordan prone beside me.
For a moment I couldn't move, or speak, then I got my breath back and rolled over to look at him. He lay on his side as I had dropped him, legs slightly curled. In the light from the moon I could see blood flowing from a nasty cut on his forehead, where he had probably struck a rock someplace. A sort of choked gurgling came from his throat, though his eyes were closed. His features were ashy, except where blood mingled with the water dripping from his head.
I didn't like his looks one bit, and that snapped me into action. Though I'd learned to swim when I was a youngster, no one had ever taught me what to do in a case of this sort. A few things I'd heard of life-saving filtered into my mind. Hell! I had to try something.
I straightened his legs, turned him face down, seized him by the middle and lifted, with a sort of joggling movement. I heard water dripping but couldn't tell if I was doing any good. Then I straightened him out again, rested his head sidewise on one bent arm. Knelt with a knee on either side of his body and pressed down on his back in the lung region, with easy rhythmic movements. Finally I heard a sort of gasp, a quick sudden intake of breath, and then another. I kept working on him, I don't know how long, until he seemed to be breathing better, though still unconscious. I still didn't like the feel of his skin; it was too cold to suit me. I'd have to get him back to the camp.
I still don't know how I made it, half-carrying and half-dragging Jordan back, with big rocks impeding the way, while the canyon walls towered high overhead. At the camp, I threw some loose blankets on the fire, then got Jordan's blankets. I stripped every bit of clothing from his body, rubbed him down with my saddle blanket, and then got him rolled into his own blankets. The next thing was to build up the fire. I scuttled around finding loose bits of wood that had washed down the canyon, and soon had a roaring blaze going. Right then, despite the heat at which I'd been working, I commenced to feel chilly. After washing the cut on his forehead, I rummaged through his dunnage until I'd found his court plaster and did what I could about bandaging the wound. It was nasty, but not too deep, and once dry the blood had started to congeal.
Now I stripped off my own clothing and did what I could to get dry. After that, I propped up some dried sticks near the fire and placed our clothing across them to dry. After a time they began to steam. The moon dropped as the night passed. From time to time I'd take a look at Jordan to see if he was all right. So far as I could tell, he was. He was plenty warm and breathing easily now, though I couldn't be certain whether he was still unconscious, or just sleeping a sleep of exhaustion.
Toward dawn I got back into my clothing, which was still pretty damp, and I was thankful for my dry boots. I inspected Jordan again. His forehead was cool, so I knew there was no temperature rising. He seemed to be sleeping easily and this time I was sure it was sleep. I considered a moment and then moved saddle and blanket, rifle and holstered cartridge belt around the corner of the rock where my horse was tethered. I saddled up and got ready to leave.
The sky was graying in the east when I got back from a final inspection of my patient. All seemed to be well. I rummaged in his things and found a short length of pencil and some paper. My short note would explain, I hoped. Just: "Sorry to do it this way, but others might not he as understanding as you. Thanks. Regret I can't stay for breakfast. John Cardinal." I placed a rock on the paper near where he lay. I placed some more wood on the fire. Then I went to my horse and got into the saddle. I walked him easily until well away from the camp.
Sure, my conscience was hurting a little, leaving in such fashion. Webb Jordan had treated me decently. However, I figured we stood Even-Steven: he hadn't blown my head off when he'd had the chance; and as I saw it I'd saved his life, though with a lot of luck, probably. Still, I'd hated like the devil to leave that way, and I wouldn't have, except that I'd felt certain he'd be as healthy as ever when he woke up. So once again I was headed north, out of the Big Bend country and its tall mountains.